His course through them
could be traced by the top of his cap, which just showed above them.
In a moment he thrust through the brush and stood before Orde.
For a moment he stared at the young man, and then, with a wild Irish
yell, leaped upon him. Orde, caught unawares and in an awkward
position, was hardly able even to struggle against the gigantic
riverman. Indeed, before he had recovered his faculties to the
point of offering determined resistance, he was pinned back against
the wall by his shoulders, and the Rough Red's face was within two
feet of his own.
"And how are ye, ye ould darlint?" shouted the latter, with a roll
of oaths.
"Why, Jimmy Bourke!" cried Orde, and burst into a laugh.
The Rough Red jerked him to his feet, delivered a bear hug that
nearly crushed his ribs, and pounded him mightily on the back.
"You ould snoozer!" he bellowed. "Where the blankety blank in blank
did you come from? Byes," he shouted to the men, "it's me ould boss
on th' Au Sable six year back--that time, ye mind, whin we had th'
ice jam! Glory be! but I'm glad to see ye!"
Orde was still laughing.
"I didn't know you'd turned into the Rough Red, Jimmy," said he. "I
don't believe we were either of us old enough for whiskers then,
were we?"
The Rough Red grinned.
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